When Garen is finally released from the hospital on Wednesday, everything is terribly, drastically different. While Marian and James go to pick him up, Bill and I tear the plastic off the new mattress and set it up in the den. The old mattress is lying somewhere in the town dump; bloodstains are hard to get out, and anyway, it’s not like he can get upstairs in his wheelchair. Bill drags in a nightstand, too, and I transfer all of Garen’s clothes from his dresser upstairs to a wooden chestin the corner of the den. The house was built to include a rarely used half-bathroom just off the kitchen, but the fact that the only two showers are both upstairs is proving to be a problem. I have no idea how that’s going to work out; Garen has already requested that his “ex-boyfriend be left out of any plans that have to do with bathrooms.” Instead, I have been put on food detail.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, the second Garen’s new electric wheelchair clears the front door. “I could get you something to eat.”

“I just want coffee. And I can get it myself, thanks,” he replies, rolling right past me. Most of the swelling in his face is gone, but he still has two black eyes, a gash across his left cheekbone, and a split lip.

“Alright, I’ll find something else to drink,” Garen says. That is too agreeable to be a good thing. Sure enough, I follow him into the kitchen and find him reaching for one of the beers in the refrigerator door. I knock his hand back and shut the door with my hip.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly what he had in mind. Go over to the table. I’m going to make you a sandwich,” I say.

Even as he does what I say, Garen snorts. “What are you, my wife? I’m sure Big Ben is thrilled that you’re being forced to be my manservant.”

“Ben wants you to get better just as much as everyone else does,” I say, grabbing the peanut butter from the cupboard. The house phone rings once, but someone else apparently gets it. “And James calls him that, too. ‘Big Ben.’ Why?”

As if summoned by his own desire to hear people talking about him, James saunters into the room. “ ‘Big Ben’ like the clocktower. It’s ironic, you see, because he’s a midget.”

“He’s only four inches shorter than me, and that’s not what I meant. I get the irony. I get why you call him that. But I don’t get why Garen does.” I turn to address Garen once more. “Why do you act like he wasn’t your friend first, long before I ever laid a hand on either of you?”

Garen shrugs. “We all like to pretend. I pretend Ben was never my friend. Ben pretends he hasn’t had a creepy, obsessive crush on you for years. You pretend you don’t still kind of want to suck my dick. Alex pretends he’s a straight guy who’s not embarassingly in love with Ben. We all tell the lies that help us sleep at night.”

“Wait, Alex is in love with Ben?” James says, blinking at us both. When we nod, he gives a small laugh. “Oh, dear. That’s awkward.”

I want to ask what he means, but at that moment, Bill enters and takes a seat at the table, across from Garen. “Detective Phillips just called. She had some news about your case.”

“Don’t call it that,” Garen mutters. “Don’t call it my case, like I went and started all this.”

Bill ignores him. “She told me that they questioned Dave Walcyzk. He brought in a lawyer, of course, and denied doing anything—”

“Of course,” James echoes under his breath.

“—but his alibi wasn’t strong. He also had clearly been in a fight. His knuckles were bruised and scratched, he had some blood on his shoes. Your blood. He’s been arrested on charges of assault and battery.”

For a while, all Garen does is blink. I wonder if it hurts him; the skin around his eyes is still so bruised, and every time he shifts even a little, he seems to wince. But right now, he is stone-still. After almost too long, he shakes his head. At first, I think he’s trying to clear his mind, but then I realize that he’s trying to say no. Finally, he says, “Get him released. I don’t want to press any charges.”

“Please tell me you’re joking,” James says quietly.

Bill is anything but quiet. “For fuck’s sake, Garen! You’re lucky I haven’t had him shot for doing this to you.”

“If you change your mind about that, just ask James,” Garen says. “Wouldn’t be the first time he shot a guy for messing with me.”

“Garen, shut up,” James says sharply, but the damage is done. My mom is standing in the kitchen doorway, looking absolutely terrified. She and Garen make one fleeting moment of eye contact before he rolls himself back out of the kitchen. I turn back to the counter, staring at the half-made peanut butter sandwich. When I hear Mom and Bill both wander back out, I fling both halves of the sandwich into the trash can.

“Sophomore year,” James murmurs, and I turn to face him. He at least has the decency to look a little ashamed. “Garen used to… look, he and I were part of a group of about six guys. Kevin, Andrew, Colin, sometimes Glen. Now, we all used to do some bad things, but Garen was the worst of us. He had the most volatile hook-ups, he got in trouble the most, and he definitely was the biggest user. Particularly when it came to coke. We all tried it, but Garen was the one who developed a real taste for it, so he was the one who had the connections. There was this kid, Seth. Seth Hayden.”

I have a sudden flash of Garen standing in front of me in the school hallway, holding a cell phone with pictures on it of us kissing. With the angle and the shitty light quality, I was able to convince some people that it’s not you, it’s a guy named Seth Hayden who I went to boarding school with.

I lean back against the counter and cross my arms. “Yeah. Garen mentioned him once.”

“Well, Seth was – and still is – a fucking insect, really. A truly disgusting individual. He was Garen’s dealer. Still is, I guess, on bad days. He’s the one who sent along the coke Garen was snorting at that party, right after he came back,” James says.

“Yes, drug dealers suck, I get it,” I interrupt. Doesn’t he realize that I try to block out as much of that night as possible?

“The point is, Seth would sometimes fuck Garen over. One time, Garen went to him to buy some weed, but Seth only had joints that were laced with PCP. He neglected to tell Garen this, just sold it to him anyway, and fuck, Garen freaked out hard. I used to tell Garen he couldn’t buy from Seth, because Seth was a shithead who only cared about making a few dollars, but as you know, Garen has that delightful tendency to be reckless. Anyway… during sophomore year, Seth sold Garen some cocaine that was cut with Ritalin. Most people call that ‘shit coke,’ because it gives you a speedy little high, but it’s cheap. Garen shared some of it with Dave—”

“Fuck!” I burst out. “Why does every shitty story involve Dave?”

“Listen to me. I’m sure Garen told you about The Argument.” I can actually hear him emphasizing it with capital letters. “The first time he and Dave ever got into a real fight. The one that put him in the hospital. You know, the first time this happened.”

“He told me about it. He didn’t tell me it was about drugs, though,” I say, stunned.

James shrugs. “Apparently, Dave didn’t like cheap highs. He beat the shit out of Garen for giving him shitty drugs, and, well… Seth was in our squad. That’s how he and Garen met, actually. We had all of our Military Leadership Education classes together. Including, of course, marksmanship.”

“Oh my god.”

“The day after it happened, when Garen was still in the hospital, I went to class and made sure I was standing next to Seth. While loading my rifle, I pretended that it had jammed, acted like I was trying to fix it, pointed it at Seth’s leg, and shot him. I claimed it was an accident, and all the teachers and faculty believed me. There was a disciplinary hearing, but it was determined that I hadn’t been in a proper frame of mind to be operating a weapon, because I was too upset over my best friend being hospitalized. Seth told them it was an accident, too, because otherwise he would’ve had to confess that I was pissed that he sold my best friend bad drugs. But he knew it was on purpose. Everyone did.”

“So, what? They just let you off with a warning?”

“Hardly. I was briefly suspended from classes, and had to do two hundred hours of community service. And I was banned from attending any classes that involved weapons for one full calendar year, which really meant I missed three semesters of M.L.E.P. classes. I spent my senior year taking more classes than anyone else, to make up for it. But it’s been about two years now, and Seth Hayden still walks with a limp. And he stopped selling Garen bad coke. So, I suppose it’s a win.”

James seems willing to give me as much time as I need to process this, because he simply sits down at the kitchen table and waits. I sink onto the floor and stare at my hands.

Truth is, I would do the exact same thing to anyone who I thought was responsible for hurting Corey like that. Or Ben. If I had to see either of them lying in a hospital bed because of a few bad decisions, I’d be all too willing to hunt down the guy who helped him make those decisions. So, why haven’t I done it for Garen? Why have I let this even become an issue of whether or not Dave will suffer any consequences?

“This is all my fault,” I say softly.

Quietly, James slips from his chair onto the floor and crawls over to me, sitting cross-legged directly in front of me, like a schoolboy waiting for storytime. “If you hadn’t confronted Dave, if you hadn’t left… no, none of this would’ve happened. You probably did the worst thing you could’ve done. No one should ever confront an abuser about the abuse, then leave him alone with the victim. It was stupid, and it was careless, but it’s not entirely your fault. Garen… wanted this. He wanted to get hurt, I just don’t think he bargained for getting hurt this badly.”

I bury my face in my hands, determined not to cry. It takes several minutes to get myself under control, but James waits patiently for me to speak again. “I didn’t mean just this one time. I meant it’s my fault in a larger, much more cosmic sense. He’s right. I should’ve just waited for him to come back. I—”

“No, shut up,” James interrupts. “Look, I love Garen more than anything, but leaving like he did and then expecting you to be waiting when he finally got around to coming back… that was fucking selfish. Particularly since he only came back because he found out you were seeing Ben. If you had stayed single, he probably would’ve stayed away. Garen craves you in an almost inhuman sort of way, and yes, I want nothing more than for him to finally be happy, but I don’t know that being with you will make him happy. I think… he might just need to self-destruct for a little while.”

I scramble to my feet. “You keep saying that, James. You keep telling me how he’s going to self-destruct, or have some mental breakdown, or just go batshit crazy. So, whatever, I guess this has happened before, I guess you’re used to it, but I’m not. And I’m not going to sit around and watch him go insane for a while. I’m done with it. I’m done with him.”

My attempt to make a dramatic exit is slightly ruined by the fact that I nearly crash into Garen on the way out. His wheelchair is parked right next to the door, and the panic in his eyes tells me that he was listening to every word. “Travis.”

“No, Garen, shut up,” I cut him off. “I’m serious. I have to focus on keeping myself sane. It’s bad enough I have to worry about Ben all the time. I can’t deal with you, too.”

On Thursday night, I come home from work to hear voices coming from the den, Garen’s new bedroom. I drop my backpack by the couch and pause, trying to make out what’s being said.

“And this one’s the middle C, right?”

“No, that’s B. Shift over one.”

“Right, right, got it. Why do you even still have such basic music?”

“I wrote it. Jane’s taking lessons now, so I just made some really basic tunes for her to practice.”

I push open the door without knocking. Both of the boys at the piano swivel around to look at me. Well, Ben turns his body; Garen rolls back so that he can turn the entire wheelchair around, and says, “Hey, Trav.”

“Hey,” I echo, taking a few steps forward so that I can brush my hand across Ben’s shoulder. Garen doesn’t even flinch.

“I was thinking about stuff last night, and realized I’ll probably go insane if I have to go six weeks without playing any music. Since these stupid splints make it impossible for me to go the fingerings on a guitar, I asked Ben if he’d try to teach me some one-handed piano.”

Ben nods. “He’s actually really good. You know, for a gimp.”

“Shut up, McCutcheon, or I will use my one non-broken leg to kick your ass,” Garen replies. He flexes his good hand and settles it on the piano keys to try playing the notes. I’m surprised how fast his fingers are able to move, actually. He seems to be a quick learner.

“I’m kind of starving right now, so I’m going to go make myself something to eat. Do either of you want anything?” I ask.

Ben stands. “Yeah, I’ll come with you.”

“I’m good,” Garen says, shaking his head and repeating the same series of notes on the piano. He pauses and offers me a quick smile. “Thanks, though.”

Seeing Garen be normal is almost more disturbing than seeing him be crazy. Over the next few days, he makes a genuine effort to be cheerful, or at least more cheerful than he’s been before. More than once, I come home to find him in the living room with James and my sister, watching a movie, or in the den, practicing piano for another lesson with Ben. When Marian leaves for New York again, he swears to call her every night to let her know how he’s doing, and actually keeps his promise. He even tries to ignore my mom, despite her constant snide remarks about what a pain in the ass it’s been to make our house as handicap-accessible as possible.

Garen’s discussion with Bill about dropping the charges against Dave is had in private, nearly a week after he gets home. Dave has been out on bail for several days now, but the question of resolution hasn’t been addressed yet. After nearly two hours in the den, Garen and Bill emerge to announce their compromise; Bill will let Garen drop the assault and battery lawsuit, provided that Garen files for a restraining order against Dave.

Everything goes to hell, though, almost two weeks after Garen is released from the hospital. I have turned the kitchen table into my base camp for most of the week; it’s senior exams week, and, since most of my classes are full of seniors, I’m forced to take mine, too. I make it through my first two days with no trouble, but Wednesday is Calculus. So, of course, I spend Tuesday night in the kitchen, with an entire year’s worth of notes scattered across the surface.

Around eleven thirty, Garen rolls into the kitchen. “You should really go to bed.”

“So should you,” I reply. “Your pills seem to knock you out early these days. I can help you get into bed, if you need it.”

“I can handle it. And I’m not tired, anyway. Figured I would come out here and write a little, if you don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” I say, swiping a pile of notes down the table so there’s room for him to join me. He rolls up to the table and sets up a few blank sheets of paper and some pens. We work in silence for almost another hour, but by that point, my notes have become a blur in front of my eyes. I lean back in my chair and rub my palms against my face. “Fuck. I’m so tired, but I’ve got so much left to study.”

“Want me to make you some coffee or something?” Garen asks. I nod, and he backs away from the table and towards the counter. He doesn’t seem to have any trouble getting work done; his paper is covered in his scribbled, all-capitals writing, all under the title ‘Dave.’ Christ, why is he writing a song about that asshole? When I’m sure he’s busy measuring coffee grounds into the machine, I turn the page slightly towards me.

I knew it would end up something like this

I reached for your hand, and you gave me your fist

All your excuses are so hard to resist

I’m still looking for love where it doesn’t exist

C: If you just wanna fight

Maybe you can spend the night

You’re more coherent when you’re screaming

I like you better when I’m bleeding

If you don’t wanna say

Sorry, I’ll still let you stay

And I promise that I’ll ask for more

I like you better when I’m on the floor

All these nights later, my bruises still ache

It’s reassuring to know that my bones can still break

Forgetting the pain was my biggest mistake

I’ll deal with the scars, if they’ll keep me awake

C: If you just wanna fight

Maybe you can spend the night

You’re more coherent when you’re screaming

I like you better when I’m bleeding

If you don’t wanna say

Sorry, I’ll still let you stay

And I promise that I’ll ask for more

I like you better when I’m on the floor

Garen’s hand comes down on the paper with enough force to make me jump. When I look over at him, the muscles in his jaw are tightened with barely concealed rage. “I really don’t remembersaying you could read that.”

“Dave was telling me the truth, wasn’t he?” I hiss. “You wanted him to hit you.”

The responding laugh is hollow. “I thought Dad said you and Bree had both been given speeches about how abuse is never the victim’s fault.”

“I’m not saying it was your fault, or that what he did was right,” I say, “but I think it’s pretty clear that you knew what you were getting yourself into.”

He sets the coffee mug down on the table. “It wasn’t that I wanted him to hurt me, necessarily. I just wanted to feel something.”

“And a broken leg is just as good as trying to be happy, right?”

“I can’t be happy. Not without you. I’ve tried, I swear, but nothing works. Every time I think I’m starting to get better, that this hole in my chest is starting to close up a little, you bring Ben around, and I fall apart again. And you get, I know you do. You get that sometimes it’s better to hurt than to be numb, or you wouldn’t have done this.” He grabs me by the wrist and pulls up my sleeve, running his palm over my scars.

I yank my arm away. “It’snot the same.”

“Yeah, it is. Travis, I miss you so fucking much. I know I swore I’d shut up, but I can’t deal with it anymore, I can’t keep waiting and hoping and being disappointed. So, I’m going to try, and ask you one last time.”

“Garen, stop,” I plead. This is it, this is the ultimatum I’ve been tring to avoid since he came back.

In a show of strength that shocks me, coming from someone as injured as he is, he grabs one of the legs of my chair and drags it – and me – as close to him as his wheelchair will allow. “Leave Ben. He’ll hate you for a while, but he’ll get over it, because he doesn’t love you the way I love you.Hell, he could be with Alex, finally, they could be good for each other. And you and I… we were so amazing, Travis, just think about it. Remember the night before I left? You promised to be with me forever. And before that, you accepted this—” I almost choke when he digs into his pocket and pulls out the ring. I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine. He curls his hand around the back of my neck and draws me closer so that our foreheads are touching. “You need me, Trav, just like I need you. From the moment we met. From the first time we kissed, fuck, don’t you remember? You didn’t even realize it was me, but you still wanted me, because something inside of you, something right down in your soul told you that you had to be with me. You weren’t even sure if you were gay or not, but you took a chance on being with me. The only guy I’d ever dated before that had beaten the shit out of me on a fairly regular basis, but I took a shot on you. Let’s try again. I promise you, things will be different this time. I won’t get mad at you for anything, or ask you to hide us from anyone. I won’t let anyone else kiss me, and I’ll stop using, and I-I’ll go back to school, I’ll get a job, I’ll go wherever you want me to go for college, I’m serious. I will do anything to be with you, and I’ll never leave again. Please. Just give me another chance. Just leave Ben.”

For a few wild seconds, I want to say, Okay. I want to call up Ben right now and tell him that, no matter how amazing he is, no matter how fantastic of a boyfriend he is, no matter how much I love him, Garen still got there first. I want to bring Garen into the den, stay in bed with him for the rest of my life, tell him, Alright, I believe you, I know things will be different this time. I want to make things work with him. It can be like he says it will be, all I have to do is say I’m in. All I have to do is nod once, and he’ll know.

And then he kisses me, and I want to die. I can’t go through this again. I can’t kiss him back and know that it’ll tear Ben apart when he finds out. I can’t put up with seeing Ben kiss Alex again, or with being the one who destroys everything I have with Ben, who ruins something that’s so, so good.

I plant my hands on the armrests of Garen’s wheelchair and shove him backwards as hard as I can so that he goes rolling back towards the counter. “No. You say this is the last time you’ll ask, so this is the last timeI’ll answer. I’m not leaving Ben. I want you to be happy, but that’s never going to happen if you keep up these stupid delusions of yours. You and I are over. Do you understand me? Over. I really thought you were making an effort so that we could go back to being friends, but it’s fucking pointless. You and I were never friends; we just fucked. Stop trying to use the whopping three months we spent together against me. Yeah, I said I’d marry you, but you said you’d never leave me. So, I guess we’re both liars. You can throw that stupid fucking ring in the trash, for all I care. We are not together. Get that through your head.”

“The only reason you’re saying that is because it’s not what you want. But you know what I want? I want to date a guy who doesn’t leave me. I want to date a guy who doesn’t do a fuck-ton of drugs, or get himself almost beaten to death just so he can feel something. I want to date a guy who actually listens to me when I speak.”

“I listen to you,” Garen says weakly. I stand so quickly that my chair topples over, and cross the kitchen to sandwich his barely-bruised face between my hands.

“Then listen to me right now. We. Are. Over,” I say. He squeezes his eyes shut, like avoiding my eyes will make the words not true. But, as I stalk from the kitchen and up into my bedroom, those words feel true for the first time in months.